Quotes
Quotes about Love
Many people love in themselves what they hate in others.
DEATH LEAVES A HEARTACHE NO ONE CAN HEAL, LOVE LEAVES LIVES A MEMORY NO ONE CAN STEAL
They tell me, Lucy, thou art dead, That all of thee we loved and cherished Has with thy summer roses perished; And left, as its young beauty fled, An ashen memory in its stead.
If, as I can't help suspecting, the dead also feel the pains of separation (and this may be one of their purgatorial sufferings), then for both lovers, and for all pairs of lovers without exception, bereavement is a universal and integral part of our experience of love.
Love is whatever you can still betray ... Betrayal can only happen if you love.
Nevertheless let every one of you in particular so love his wife even as himself; and the wife see that she reverence her husband.
Reprove not a scorner, lest he hate thee: rebuke a wise man, and he will love thee.
He has changed He has grown No longer bud but Love Fullblown.
To warm their little loves the birds complain.
Fish got to swim and birds got to fly I got to love one man till I die, Can't help lovin' dat man of mine.
The nightingale has a lyre of gold, The lark's is a clarion call, And the blackbird plays but a boxwood flute, But I love him best of all. For his song is all the joy of life, And we in the mad spring weather, We two have listened till he sang Our hearts and lips together.
I was always a lover of soft-winged things.
A spring of love gushed from my heart, And I bless'd them unaware.
Blindness Hatred is blind, as well as love.
An Arab, by his earnest gaze, Has clothed a lovely maid with blushes; A smile within his eyelids plays And into words his longing gushes.
From every blush that kindles in thy cheeks, Ten thousand little loves and graces spring To revel in the roses.
The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne, Burned on the water: the poop was beaten gold; Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were lovesick with them; the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes.
Love's mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book.
Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing.
Words of love, are works of love.
Some on commission, some for the love of learning, some because they have nothing better to do or because they hope these walls of books will deaden the drumming of the demon in their ears.
Show me the books he loves and I shall know the man far better than through mortal friends.
Only little boys and old men sneer at love.
The god-like hero sate On his imperial throne: His valiant peers were placed around, Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound (So should desert in arms be crowned). The lovely Thais by his side, Sate like a blooming Eastern bride In flower of youth and beauty's pride. Happy, happy, happy pair! None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserve the fair.
The brave Love mercy, and delight to save.
